


The Curious Events of Blake And A Block of Cheese

by honestys_easy



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Cheese, Food, Kitchen Sex, M/M, ice cubes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-26
Updated: 2007-04-26
Packaged: 2017-12-05 07:20:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/720353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honestys_easy/pseuds/honestys_easy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blake eats cheese for dinner.  Chris makes a salad.  And the kitchen is never the same again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Curious Events of Blake And A Block of Cheese

As Chris Richardson walked into the dining room that evening, thoughts of a turkey sandwich filling his mind, he took a quick glance in the direction of Blake, who was sitting at the head of the table, happily munching away on something. He was about to give a quick wave to his boyfriend, then disappear into the kitchen, when something horribly wrong caused him to stop short, a perplexed expression on his face.

“Blake,” Chris started slowly, choosing his words very carefully. “What in God’s name are you eating?”

“Cheese,” Blake replied happily. He took an impressive bite out of a large block of cheddar, then presented the block to Chris. “Want some?” he asked, though with the large chunk of cheese in his mouth it sounded more like a drowning walrus’s death cry. Chris scrunched his face up at the very thought; he didn’t want to calculate how much fat Blake had just consumed in that one bite.

He shook his head no, and Blake went back to chewing. “What, are you high, or something?”

Blake looked up quickly. “Why, what have you heard?”

Choosing to ignore that last statement – and wondering why he had even bothered to ask – he got back to the issue at hand. “Please tell me that’s not your dinner.”

“What’s wrong with cheese now?” Blake had the strangest tendency to answer direct questions with other questions, particularly when he was hungry. Or horny. Or in the mood to annoy the living hell out of Chris.

Taking the quick three strides to Blake’s seat at the table, Chris gave a doubting look. “You can’t eat a block of cheese for dinner, Blake,” he said, fingers massaging the bridge of his nose. If he knew any better, he’d just let Blake win this one: let him eat the cheese, get a stomach ache, and then be able to tell him “I Told You So” in the morning. But he just couldn’t let Blake do that to his own body. All those preservatives, all that cholesterol…

“Cheese,” Blake began after taking another healthy bite, “is dairy. And dairy is healthy. In fact, it’s part of a balanced…HEY!” he shouted, as Chris snatched up what was left of the cheddar and made a beeline for the kitchen door. Slightly miffed at how serious Chris was being about this, he followed the younger man into the kitchen, fully-stocked and impeccable but hardly ever used due to the hectic schedule of the contestants.

Chris opened the refrigerator door and shoved the half-eaten brick of cheddar inside, shutting it promptly so Blake wouldn’t try to sneak it back into his hands. “Do you know how many calories are in a block of cheese?” he asked, his hands on his hips. Blake held his hand over his mouth discreetly, trying not to snicker. He knew Chris was trying to be authoritative and bossy, but he couldn’t help thinking that this fit over cheese was making him cuter.

Blake folded his arms in front of his chest. He wasn’t backing down until Chris gave him back his dinner. “Do _you_ know how much _awesome_ is in a block of cheese?” he challenged.

Sighing heavily – and holding back laughter, for Blake’s stubbornness was too funny for words – Chris reopened the fridge, but with different intentions from before. “I’m making you dinner,” he declared, searching through the contents of the fridge. “Something healthy. A salad.” He smiled at a jar of mayonnaise as he felt Blake’s pout from behind his back. “And don’t even bother complaining, your body will thank me later, when you don’t die of a heart attack.”

“My body will thank you in very different ways later,” Blake said to Chris, who was hunched over searching for something in the vegetable crisper. “If you just give me back my cheese.”

“You’re not going to bribe me with sex, Blake.” Chris found a heart of romaine lettuce and held it behind his back, shaking it temptingly in front of Blake. He reluctantly took it from Chris’s grasp, sighing in resignation, and placed it on the tiled counter. “Hmm, let’s see…there’s lettuce, some cherry tomatoes…” Chris rummaged through the well-stocked shelves, determined to keep Blake away from eating anything that’s been pre-frozen…or made in the state of Wisconsin. “Ah, great, a cucumber.”

Blake stifled a laugh unsuccessfully. Chris stood up straight and turned around, a bemused look on his face. Blake shrugged his shoulders, grinning. “You said ‘cucumber,’” he said with a chuckle.

Chris shook his head, wondering how he ever got into this situation of falling for a guy like Blake. And making him dinner, no less. But he couldn’t help but smile, Blake’s loveable, carefree attitude impossible to ignore. And then there were some times when Chris had no idea what a guy like Blake was ever doing with him.

His thoughts were cut off by the sudden movement of Blake’s lips upon his. Chris sighed much differently from before, instantly responding to the kiss, his body relaxing into the familiar feeling of Blake. He felt strong arms wrap around his midsection – Blake pulling himself closer to him – and he opened his lips to let Blake’s tongue slide expertly through. Chris was quickly getting lost in Blake’s embrace, his kiss, as he leaned him back, farther…when something very cold suddenly pressed against his neck, the small of his back. The refrigerator shelves. The door was still open, and Blake was leaning him into the shelves…

“Blake!” he called out, breaking their kiss. “The fridge…”

The grip around Chris’s waist tightened; there was an air of mischief playing on Blake’s lips. “If you can’t stand the cold,” he said in Chris’s ear, his hands roaming lower to grab his ass. “Then get out of the kitchen.”

“That’s not how…mmph…” Blake silenced Chris with a heated kiss, pressing his body flush against Chris’s, pushing him father into the fridge. Chris was almost getting used to the cold air brushing against his back, especially since the warmth of Blake’s body against his front was much more inviting. His heard a noise beside him, and another blast of air, colder this time, bit the side of his face – the freezer door had been opened. Chris tried to push the small fact out of his mind, of the frigid air swirling around the two young men; he was slowly beginning to enjoy the cold around him, as other parts of him grew warm.

But then, something cold, painfully cold, shot out against his neck. He shouted in alarm, breaking the reverie he had drifted into moments before. “Yow!”

Another low chuckle from Blake. He held his hand up, revealing something smooth and transparent – and definitely cold. “’S only ice cubes,” he said, the slippery cube sliding around his palm.

Chris exhaled deeply, his nerves frazzled. He was slightly annoyed with Blake for puling that without any warning, but it was very tough to stay mad at the man, and besides, he was intrigued. Ice cubes? Just what did Blake think he was plotting here?

Intuitively, Blake replied to Chris’s expression. “What fun would it have been if I’d said something beforehand?” He leaned in closer to Chris, his hot breath mingling with the icy freon. “Relax, Chris. This will feel good; I promise.”

He was a bit wary; there were a lot of things Blake had promised would feel good in the past few weeks and nearly half of them Chris had to vehemently disagree. Though he had to admit, he was right about the handcuffs… “Can we at least close the fridge door?” he asked, watching a grin spread across Blake’s face as he knew that he won. “No point in wasting electricity…”

Blake backed away from Chris to allow him to close the appliance doors, but soon realized that giving Chris Richardson an inch was giving him a mile. With his own evil smirk, he quickly took Blake off-guard and pushed the smaller man up against the kitchen island, muscular arms wrapping around his waist. Lips were reunited with lips, urgent, pressing kisses encompassing Blake’s entire being. But the persistent cold was still in his palm, melting slowly. He still had to show Chris a thing or two.

“Just…let me…” he managed out as Chris’s mouth moved lower, gently sucking on his neck. With one hand, Blake pulled at Chris’s t-shirt, dragging it up from the waist, revealing the well-toned torso he was so familiar with. And with the other, he gingerly touched the cube to Chris’s stomach, directly above his bellybutton.

A sharp intake of break from Chris; he definitely wasn’t expecting that, though ht admitted to himself, it wasn’t unpleasant. The neck he had been kissing suddenly disappeared, and a moment later hot, moist breath quickly followed the cool ice; Blake was following the trail of the cube with his mouth, his tongue, and it felt amazing. Chris exhaled with a slow hiss, leaning his arm against the kitchen island.

Blake didn’t dare stop at the stomach. He moved the ice cube northward, leaving a trail of wet in its wake, that he kissed and licked with erotic precision. Chris was going nuts over this feeling, of hot and cold, of pleasure and pain, and when Blake finally reached his nipples – the cube grazing against the pert piece of flesh, Blake’s mouth enveloping the other – he cried out, unable to mask his arousal. “Blake…fuck!”

He couldn’t bear the slow, languorous teasing anymore; Blake must’ve been an expert in torture in a previous life, because Chris was ready to tell him anything, give him everything he wanted – and more. He pulled Blake upright forcefully, the fire and determination in his eyes almost tangible. He kissed Blake with such intensity, the other older man thought it would leave a bruise. Chris’s hands busied themselves by making a beeline for Blake’s fly, undoing the zipper with very little fanfare, and pulling them together with his boxers down to his knees. His jeans soon followed, and with that burning look of lust in Chris’s eyes, Blake knew what would be coming next.

Taking Chris’s hardened cock in his hand, Blake stroked once, twice, before he decided to try something even he didn’t know the results of. Slowly, and very gently, he took the melting ice cube in his hand and rubbed it against Chris, sliding down the shaft with cool water. Again came the sharp gasp, but quickly it was followed by a loud moan; it was good, Chris realized almost too good, and if he didn’t do something about it soon… “Oh God, Blake,“ he panted. “Need to be inside you…so bad…”

Taking a deep breath, Blake hoped that the water would be good enough – he didn’t want to break the moment to forage for some olive oil – and allowed Chris to take him by the waist, hoisting him up onto the kitchen island. He pressed himself at Blake’s entrance, and when he thrust inside, both boys held their breath, reveling in the unique yet immeasurable feel of their love.

Panting furiously, Chris began a steady motion, bracing himself against the cool tile of the island, Blake’s arms draped around his neck. But with every grunt and soft moan elicited from his lover, he moved faster, thrust harder, until he was at his near breaking point. He leaned forward with all his power, pushing Blake back against the island, almost the entirety of his spine flat against the tile. Cold tile, cold ice, and the overwhelming heat of the two bodies as they simultaneously came to climax…

“Oh fuck, Chris…Chris!” Blake shouted out as he came, his senses in the awkward stasis of heightened and numb. He could hear Chris above him, chanting his name like a never-ending prayer, a hymnal; he could feel the shudders of Chris’s body as he let himself go inside of him, the warm, soothing feeling mixing with the cold ice water. But none of it registered in his mind; it all felt hazy, detached, as he rode out his own euphoria, praying to any god that he never come down.

It was a good three minutes before either man could do anything but gasp from breath, willing their hearts to slow, holding onto each other with skin speckles with sweat. Blake spoke first, his head moving from side to side, assessing the situation. “Kitchen sex,” he said, his hand stretching over the tile. “Never did that before.”

“Really?” Chris finally found his voice. “Felt like you were an expert at the whole thing.”

Blake sat up quickly. “You callin’ me a slut, Christopher?”

Grinning, Chris gave Blake a soft kiss, silencing any complaints. “You should probably put on a new shirt,” he said, pointing out the newly ruined t-shirt.

“You should probably disinfect the island,” he retorted, giving his signature laugh. He hopped off the counter, bending down to pull up his pants. “I’m gonna take a quick shower, while you make me that salad.”

Chris was about the make a sarcastic comment about not waiting for him to join him, when a noise from the dining room stopped both boys in their tracks.

“I’m gonna get a Coke, anyone want anything?”

It was muffled by the closed kitchen door, but Blake and Chris could both pick out Jordin’s familiar voice from anywhere.

“Sure, could you get me a beer?” came the low voice of Phil. The voices seemed to be getting louder, closer. Chris and Blake exchanged looks, their bodies frozen in shock.

There was an audible clock of a tongue; Melinda. “Phil, don’t ask her to get you a beer!” she protested.

A light laugh; it was louder than before, Jordin was making her way to the kitchen. “Oh come on, I won’t be corrupted through osmosis,” said the voice.

Chris’s eyes widened in horror; Blake mouthed a silent “fuck.” Both men appeared to be trapped in a very compromising position; their pants pooled at their ankles, their very pores distinctly smelling of sex. There was no time to make up any excuses; hell, there wasn’t even enough time to pull their boxers up, they realized, as the kitchen door opened a crack.

With lightning-quick reflexes not characteristic of a post-coital man with his pants down, Blake rushed to the door, pushing his full weight against it, effectively shutting Jordin out. His eyes wide, he looked over at Chris, who was scrambling to pull his jeans up, but becoming quickly flustered from the situation and failed miserably.

“What the –?“ Jordin said to herself on the other side of the door. Frowning, she gave the door a tougher shove – maybe it had gotten stuck on something.

Blake leaned against the door with all his strength, but it was becoming quickly apparent to him that Jordin really wanted that Coke, and she was turning out to be considerably stronger than him. Rather than point out this slight bruise to his ego, Blake motioned wildly for Chris to get to the fridge. Chris caught on quickly, and clamored over to the refrigerator, pulling the door open and procuring a can of soda. He tossed it to Blake, who caught it deftly.

Opening the kitchen door a slight crack – just enough to view the teenager on the other side – Blake shot his arm out, soda in hand.

“Jordin, take the can, close the door, and don’t come back,” he warned quickly, hiding his frame behind the wooden door.

“Wha…Blake?” Jordin called from the dining room, recognizing the man’s tattooed forearm instantly. “What’s going on?”

Another hard push on the kitchen door, that almost sent Blake reeling. Damn, the girl sure did eat her vegetables. “I…I can’t tell you,” he stammered. “Just…for the love of God, don’t come in here. You do not want to come in here.”

“But –“

“Take the can and go!” he yelled, nearly throwing the soda at her. For fuck’s sake, Blake thought, as Chris finally was able to pull up his jeans and boxers, his face flush with embarrassment. He was trying very hard not to corrupt any minors during the competition, but God, Jordin was an inquisitive one.

But Jordin didn’t leave; she stood at the door, hand on her hip. “Phil wants a beer,” she said defiantly. She knew something had to be going on, and she surely wasn’t going to leave until she found out what it was.

Blake looked over to Chris, but Chris was already on the task, a Coors Light in his hand. He strode over to the door, handing over the beer. “Fucking Phil,” he muttered under his breath as Blake passed it through the crack to Jordin.

“Chris?!” Obviously, he hadn’t muttered low enough, and Blake shot him a death glare, which would have been much more menacing if he were wearing pants.

Defeated and found-out, Chris sighed, and rolled his eyes. "You don’t want to come into the kitchen right now, Jordin,” he repeated Blake’s words, but with less urgency than before. He slowly shut the door entirely, allowing Blake to slink to the floor and hastily pull up his pants. Yes, Chris conceded, the spontaneous sex in the kitchen was certainly arousing and satisfying, but the next time Blake wanted to introduce something new into the bedroom, they needed to make sure it, well, stayed in the bedroom.

Jordin stood dumbfounded, staring at the closed door, the two beverage cans slowly cooling her hands. Her mind, naïve and inexperienced at times but sharp when it came to idle gossip, slowly put two and two together, and when she finally realized it, she gasped aloud, shocked, and then a bit irritated.

“I’m never making macaroni and cheese in there again!”


End file.
